


Seven Angry Men

by Pompadorks



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Courtroom Drama, Crossover, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Legal Drama, Minor Violence, Murder Mystery, The main cast is human at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pompadorks/pseuds/Pompadorks
Summary: The first trial of an android in the Detroit legal court system is underway. Seven men are tasked with deciding their fate, all with rather different backgrounds and opinions.Yet they're capable of agreeing on one thing. They're in for a long night.
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Markus & Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Minor Kara/Luther (Detroit: Become Human) - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published work in this fandom and despite having been writing for it for well over a year or two this still feels ooc so mind that.
> 
> But moving on from my own personal biases, enjoy the show.

** Seven Angry Men **

**Based on the 1957 film “12 Angry Men,” which was in turn based on the 1954 teleplay “Twelve Angry Men,” by Reginald Rose**

~~~~~~

“Murder in the first degree—premeditated homicide—is the most serious charge tried in our criminal courts. This is also the first case in which an android has been charged. You've heard a long and complex case, gentlemen, and it is now your duty to sit down to try and separate the facts from the fantasy. One man is dead. The life of another is at stake. If there is a reasonable doubt in your minds as to the guilt of the accused… then you must declare him not guilty. If, however, there is no reasonable doubt, then he must be found guilty. Whichever way you decide, the verdict must be unanimous. I urge you to deliberate honestly and thoughtfully. You are faced with a grave responsibility. Thank you, gentlemen.”

The judge waved off the eighth and ninth men at the end of the jury. “The alternates may now be excused. Thank you for your time.” The alternates glanced at each other before the ninth grabbed his cane beginning to hobble towards the door. The eighth followed close behind.

The clerk rose from the jury box, looking incredibly bored in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

“The jury will now retire.” The seven remaining men at the jury table all stood, slowly filing from the jury box. Very few of them dared to make eye contact with the defendant.

The android seated at the defense table however never looked away.

~~~~~

“I think he’s guilty.” Juror #2 said conspiratorially as soon as they entered the deliberation room. He adjusted his jacket, eventually relenting to the heat and shucking it off. “Never seen a more open and shut case, and I work as a police officer. Hardly believe lawyers can talk so much.”

He approached the coat rack, Juror #6 chuckling. He grabbed a small plastic cup off the side of the water cooler.

“Definitely seems that way but it’s best to get all sides of the story.” Juror #6 filled his cup to the brim then downed it in a single swallow. “Got any kids?”

Clearly an attempt at small talk. Any other day Juror #2 probably would've sworn till he was blue in the face at the question. But at this point he was too tired and too mentally drained to care. Only grumbling half as much as usual he responded. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. What about you?”

“Yep.” Juror #6 set down the cup and began digging for his wallet in his pockets. Flipping it open revealed a few cards but Juror #6 instead pulled out a less than pristine photograph. “My family and I moved to Detroit from Canada, took this the day we moved in.”

The photo held three figures. The first and largest of them appeared to be Juror #6 to his right was a shorter woman with cropped blonde hair. Sandwiched between them was a little girl who was positively beaming.

Across the room Juror #7 was busy trying, and failing, to open one of the windows. Juror #4 stepped in, pulling the window halfway open.

“Tissue?” He asked. “You don’t look good.”

“Pass.” Juror #7 scoffed, glowering at him before turning around and sitting in one of the dozen or so chairs behind them.

The door to the restroom opened and Juror #3 stepped out, seemingly having fixed his hair and clothing.

“So sorry if I’ve kept you all waiting.” He apologized, voice just teetering on the edge of smugness. “I was freshening up.”

Chairs scrapped as they all sat down. Juror #5 remained standing at the end of the table organizing a stack of notes. Juror #4 pushed his pack of tissues towards Juror #1 who’d been sniffling incessantly through the trial. He took the box, blowing his nose.

“You have a cold?” Juror #2 asked.

“You know these hot weather colds.” Juror #1 mumbled tossing his used tissue into a nearby trash can.

Juror #5 cleared his throat, drawing the rest of the jury’s attention. “Alright. We shouldn’t discuss the case until we have elected a foreman. I suggest we first introduce ourselves and cast secret votes that way--”

“I nominate Mr. Chatterbox up here.” Juror #2 said lazily, not looking up.

Juror #5 glared at him for the interruption before looking back up and opening his mouth.

“Second!” Juror #7 called from the other end of the table.

Juror #5 dropped into his chair, resigned to his fate.

“All in favor?” Juror #2 asked. There was a murmur of ascension from the gathered men. “All opposed?” Quiet. “It’s settled then. Let’s hurry this up now, some of us have families to get back to.”

“Okay then.” Juror #5 slid his large stack of notes towards himself, flicking through them. “I took the liberty of asking the stenographer for her notes which she kindly supplied. I myself also made a checklist of every piece of evidence presented and admitted. I think we should start by going over all of them.”

“... Or we could vote now, there’s no point in going over six days of evidence again if we all agree.” Juror #7 mentioned.

“He makes a good point.” Juror #1 added.

“Alright then, does anyone have some paper for votes?” Juror #5 asked.

“Why vote anonymously?” Juror #6 questioned.

“So no one feels pressured to vote a particular way.”

“If anyone is going to vote to oppose us they’ll have to challenge us as to why sooner or later.” Juror #2 pointed out leaning forward in his chair.

“I’m the foreman and I suggest anonymous votes, if anyone has an issue with it they can be the foreman.” Juror #5 spoke swiftly, not giving off the air that he wouldn't allow an argument but that an argument would be unneeded. More so all his actions and words were carefully constructed to make the best of things. It was enough to shock Juror #2 into silence.

Juror #5 tore a bit of excess paper from the bottom of his notes. After ripping the paper into sevenths the foreman handed a slip to each member of the jury before taking one himself. Juror #7 retrieved one of the pens supplied by the courthouse and dragged it across his paper. Each letter of his completely capitalized _G-U-I-L-T-Y_ was punctuated by the stab of the pen and the following drag. Juror #5 didn’t even look up, guarding his own vote with the hand he wasn’t using to write and his forearm.

Juror #6 frowned at Juror #7’s display before retrieving a pen of his own and positioning his hand to hide his paper. Juror #3 tossed his ballot into the center of the table, the letters _G-u-i_ clearly visible. After all the papers had been collected Juror #5 collected them, giving them a quick shuffle before beginning to read them.

“Guilty.” He let Juror #7’s ballot flutter to the table. “Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. I can’t be sure. And guilty.”

“Are you kidding me?” Juror #7 sat up, glaring around the table. “Who put that in!?”

“That isn’t how secret voting works.” Juror #5 appeared to be trying to make up for his earlier outburst keeping his face even. “We’re not supposed to know who voted what.”

“As I said earlier they’ll have to say why they can’t believe without a shadow of a doubt the defendant is guilty eventually.” Juror #2 shrugged.

“Yeah! So who put that in there!”

“Calm down.” Juror #6 said crossly.

“Don’t waste your breath.” Juror #4 stood up. “I cast the vote.”

Juror #7 eased back into his seat still staring at the man across from him. “Why’d you vote that you ‘Couldn’t be sure’?”

“Because I can’t.” Juror #4 said calmly.

“Why not?” Juror #7 hissed.

“I just can’t, and if I cannot, I simply can’t in good conscious damn that android to death.”

“Death?” Juror #7 scoffed. “Androids don’t die.” He leaned forward, leering at Juror #4.

Juror #1 leaned in front of him, separating the two’s eye contact. “Can we help you?”

“This doesn’t involve you.”

“We know each other.” Juror #4 explained, pushing Juror #1 back into his seat with a stern glance.

“Is that allowed!?”

“Gentlemen!”

All three of the jury members whipped their heads to face Juror #2 who’d spoken up.

“If you three are done arguing in a circle I have something to say.” All three of the Jurors hurried back into their seats as soon as he stopped speaking. “I don’t think anything is wrong with saying you're not sure when you really aren’t sure. I suggest we go over the evidence once again like this foreman motherfucker suggested.”

“That use of language is unnecessary nor professional!” Juror #5 snapped.

“Yeah, well you can kiss my ass.”

The foreman’s nostrils flared before he busied himself reorganizing the papers. After following this through to completion he positioned himself more comfortably in his chair clearing his throat.

“The first witness-”

“Hold it.” Juror #3 interrupted looking up from picking at his nails. “Going over six days of evidence will take far too long. I suggest we stick to the most important piece of evidence, going around the table and ask why everybody thinks it's guilty.”

Juror #4’s uncomfortable correction of, _“he”_ was half ignored by most of the jury.

The foreman nodded. “That could work.”

“I’ll go first then.” Said Juror #2. “For me, it’s pretty open and shut. Let’s use the second witness for example according to the testimony of the man who lived on the second floor, the one under the victim. He said at five after eleven he heard the android shout, “I’m going to kill you!” a moment later he heard the body fall. Then he ran to the door of his apartment and saw the android running down the stairs. After that, the police arrived and he was detained. They found the victim with a knife in his chest.” He leaned back, signaling he was done speaking.

The rest of the room turned to Juror #6 who folded his hands thoughtfully. “For me, it was the eyewitness, the woman across the street.”

“She saw the two through the windows of the elevated train did she not?” Juror #3 asked calmly.

“Yes, but the court proved she’d be able to see them. Or their silhouettes at the very least.”

The jury skipped Juror #4 being the sole dissenter. Moving on to Juror #1 he cast his friend a thoughtful look before speaking.

“For me, it was the testimonies of the people across the hall. They said he was a used model, came for cheaper because of that.” Juror #1 seemed unsure what to do with his hands. “They said that’s why they thought his owner might’ve been okay with striking him sometimes. I’m not saying he's horrid for being guilty, I’m just saying I think he did it.”

Juror #7 rolled his eyes scoffing. “Why are you treating it like a person. Either way, it’s safest to keep it off the streets if there's even an inkling of a chance it did this. That’s why I voted guilty.” He crossed his arms, seeming to dare anyone around him to oppose his statement.

Juror #5 bit. “You don't know that. What a terrible thing for a man to believe!”

“Believe what? The truth? They’re machines!”

“Android laws are being lightened daily, the fact we’re even here and they haven’t thrown him to the wolves as soon as the victim cropped up proves that.” Juror #6 snapped.

“Friends if you don’t mind I believe it’s my turn to speak.” Juror #3 said voice injected with false honey.

“Sorry, sir.” Juror #5 apologized, glaring at Juror #7 who sat back down with a harrumph. “What were you saying?"

Juror #3 gave a winning smile before clearing his throat. “In my opinion, the most damning piece of evidence was the fact the android didn’t testify. If that doesn’t say guilty conscious I don’t know what would.”

“Well…” Juror #5 looked down at his notes jotting a few things down. “You pretty much covered it.” He set his notes back down, sliding a paperclip over them before looking up at Juror #4 thoughtfully. “So what doubts do you have?”

“He appeared too nice and level-headed during the trial to do something like this.” Juror #6 responded simply, idly switching his cup of water between his hands.

“Level-headed?” Juror #3 deadpanned, raising a brow.

“You’re joking!” Juror #7 leaped to his feet. “Listen dipshit I don’t know what candy cane and sunshine-infested lala land you came from but bad people can be level-headed and nice.”

“Language!”

“Actually.” Juror #2 leaned back, for the first time he appeared to actually be skimming over the evidence in his mind. “He makes a point I’ve been curious about. The eyewitness reported the android always closed the blinds at 10pm, that’s why she noticed the open window. If he was going to murder the victim why leave the blinds open?”

“It’s reported he was at the store until… Until…” Juror #5 trailed off grabbing his stack of notes and flicking through them.

“It could’ve been a crime of passion.” Juror #3 sighed romantically.

“Perhaps one of his owners' beatings went too far?” Juror #4 theorized.

“Couldn’t be,” Juror #5 interrupted. “It was reported the defendant returned home from the grocery store at 10:59pm, the time of death was six after eleven.”

“That would be enough time to possibly bring him close to death.” Juror #2 noted.

“Nope, I looked over every testimony of every fight.” Juror #5 smacked the top of his stack of notes. “The only shouting that day was the android shouting ‘I’m going to kill you!’ at 11:05pm and a brief argument at 7:30pm or so.”

“Our jolly tin man must’ve still been heated from the argument earlier in the day, gone out for groceries, came back, and just killed the victim.” Juror #7 supplied.

Juror #3’s brows knit. “Is there any possibility we can see the murder weapon?” He asked Juror #5. The man blinked a few times before the Juror across from him spoke again. “You’re the foreman?”

“Oh! Right!” Juror #5 sprung to his feet, hurrying over to the door of the deliberation room.

Aside from the incessant tick of the clock mounted to the wall and the guard and foreman’s hushed whispers nothing accompanied the six men. Eventually the door creaked shut, the foreman standing beside it, like a kid in timeout. His back was straight as a ruler and he flicked at an unruly strand of hair hanging before his face until the guard returned. This time with a knife. Handling the weapon as if it were a bomb Juror #5 returned to the deliberation table.

“This was the weapon found at the crime scene, it had no fingerprints.”

Juror #3 took the blade, unsheathing it and unceremoniously stabbing it into the table with a dull thunk.

“What the hell!?” Juror #2 hollered, most of the room noted the lack of Juror #5’s reprimand.

“Take a long look at this knife gentlemen. It appears practically identical to every switchblade I’ve ever seen.”

“And what does this mean for the case?” Juror #1 asked flatly.

“Did the defendant return home with any groceries?” Asked Juror #3, his voice still held a horrifying calmness to it. As if he was explaining the sky was blue, or that water is wet.

“Nothing that you can’t find at a convenience store, from what I remember.” Responded Juror #6.

“A convenience store where you can easily buy a switchblade like this, not only that but it’s in pristine condition. As if it’s just been bought.”

Juror #5 suddenly appeared behind Juror #3 hands behind his back and eyes dark.

“Actually…” He stabbed an identical knife beside the first on the table. “I beg to differ.”

“I don’t see how this doesn’t prove my point?”

“My brother collects knives.” The foreman explained.

“Creepy.” Juror #2 murmured, earning himself a glare.

“This knife is a collectors item.” Juror #3’s eyes widened. “If you paid attention in the trial you would know the android’s owner was a collector.”

"And why the hell do you just _carry_ a heavily sought after collectors item on you?" Asked Juror #2.

"I don't usually." Juror #5 explained, tugging the knives back out from the table. "But it isn't my brother's favorite so he was fine with me borrowing it for a day. I assumed someone may bring the authenticity of the weapon into question so I decided to bring in a baseline." He explained.

“Then the android must’ve taken the weapon from inside the house.” Hypothesized Juror #7.

There was quiet for a moment before Juror #6 spoke.

“Were there signs of forced entry?”

“Are you kidding me!?”

“The DPD actually wasn’t able to tell.” Juror #5 said, as if the outburst hadn’t happened. “The victim’s door jammed quite a lot so they were unable to tell if the paint circles were from him or… someone else.”

“Everything you're saying just proves the android’s guilt more!” Juror #7 yelled. “He couldn’t deal with being tossed around anymore and stabbed the victim! The knife is in a collection inside the house only he and the victim were in! The knife doesn't have prints! There are so many witnesses! Eyewitnesses! It’s so obvious!” He threw his hands up in frustration.

“Someone even heard the defendant shout that he was going to kill the victim, moments before the victim died.” Juror #3 added.

“It could’ve just been a figure of speech.” All eyes turned to Juror #1 who seemed to shrink slightly. “I mean tons of people say, ‘I’m going to kill you’ when they’re upset…”

“Not in this circumstance!” Juror #7 reasoned. “He shouted "I’m going to kill you’ and the only other person he was in the room with died! Case closed.” He slammed a fist down on the table. Causing the candle and cups of water on the table to jostle.

“I’ll make a deal with you.” Juror #4 said, speaking over the man. “You’ve made some good points I’ll admit, how about you six do another vote. If you all vote guilty, so will I and we can all go home.”

“Finally, you say something useful.” Juror #7 flopped back into his chair, again he was the first who tossed his ballot to the foreman, and again he took no care to hide his vote.

The tallying wasn’t nearly as fast this time around. Even Juror #3 was coy about his ballot. Eventually, they were all cast, and the foreman retrieved them all once more after he finished folding the first votes.

“Okay, here’s the new vote


	2. Act II

“Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Not guilty. Guilty.” Juror #5 announced before setting the ballots back down.

“Is that so?” Juror #3’s voice was calm, thoughtful even. But his smile held all the warmth of a blizzard.

“Well then--” Whatever statement Juror #5 was gunning to make was interrupted by Juror #7’s sudden outburst.

“Who was it!” The anger in his eyes made the earlier arguing sound like child’s play.

“Excuse me!” The foreman spat crossly. “As I said before the point of the secret votes is-”

“What do you mean?” Juror #7 whipped to face the foreman whose mouth snapped closed. “I don’t give two fucks what your secret ballots mean! Nothing here is secret.”

“Besides I think I already know who it was.” Juror #3 hummed before looking at Juror #1 down the table. “Why’d you change your vote?”

“What do you-?”

“You!” Juror #7 turned his tirade onto Juror #1, Juror #3 barely hiding a smirk in time for the enraged man to miss it. “What’s the matter with you? You come here and vote guilty just like the rest of us. Then this slick preacher comes in here tearing your heart out with the poor abused android, so alone in the world. And you’re dumb enough to believe him! To think you’d ignore all the facts because your friend is such a sick, grimy, pathetic-”

“How dare you?” Juror #1 raised his hanches.

“We’re trying to get a guilty android off the streets and away from other people, it can hurt! Everyone here knows it's guilty! And he's stopping us from tossing it." The man eyed an apathetic Juror #4 wearily.

“Still!” Juror #1 leaned forward. “People are entitled to unpopular opinions!”

“Fine, you disagree. Why did you change your vote?” Rather than respond Juror #1 simply blinked at him.

“He doesn’t have anything to tell you.” Juror #5 said from behind his pamphlet of notes. “He didn’t change his vote, I did.”

Juror #7 fell back into his seat, slack-jawed. “What?” He balked.

“Suppose you’d like to know why?”

“Not really.” Juror #3 muttered.

“Let him speak.” Juror #2 demanded, waving Juror #3 off.

“Thank you.” Juror #5 dipped his head, turning to the first dissenter of the group. “This man chose to stand alone in his belief in this android. And in his belief he brought up some pretty good points, we all did. And similar to him I can’t in good conscious shut down that android when I simply don’t know if it- he’s -guilty. And we can’t do a thing to him unless the vote is unanimous. It isn’t how things are done, certainly not in the legal system. The vote is two to five.”

Juror #7 leaned towards Juror #1 brushing at invisible dust on his shoulder.

“I got a little… excited, didn’t mean for things to get nasty.”

Juror #1 shrugged him off, turning towards Juror #4 and speaking quietly with his friend. Juror #5 stood up, walking over to a bookshelf by the window. He began sifting through the books and boxes stored there.

“So you wanna talk? Fine, we’ll talk.” Juror #3 said to his back. He cleared his throat, primping himself. “No matter what this android says we’ll always have the two eyewitnesses.”

Juror #5 returned to his seat, holding a stack of envelopes and a piece of scrap paper. He shoved the first and second votes into two envelopes silently. The man seemed to be breathing through his nostrils, not trusting himself to speak. Juror #5 grabbed the pen he’d used to vote beginning to jot something down. After he finished the sketch he tossed it into the center of the table.

“Look at this sketch for me.”

Everyone leaned towards the photo, Juror #7 was the first to react.

“It's a train.”

The drawing had been rather crude, a simple photo of the elevated train outside a window. Two silhouettes just past the train's window.

“How long does it take for an el train to pass by any given point?” Juror #5 didn’t return to his seat, opting to pace in front of the window.

“I have no idea.” Juror #1 said flatly.

“Just guess then.”

“Does this have to do with anything at all?” Juror #7 quirked an eyebrow.

“Ten or twelve seconds is the likeliest.” Juror #6 offered.

“A fair guess.” Mumbled Juror #5.

"I’d say ten.” Juror #2 took a tissue from the box in the center of the table. But rather than wipe his brow he fiddled with the cloth quietly. As if he had just wanted something to do.

“Alright, ten seconds what’s that mean?” Juror #1 asked.

“This. An el train passes a given point in ten seconds. That given point is the window of the room in which the killing took place. You can almost reach out of the window of that room and touch the el. Right? Now let me ask you this. Did anyone here ever live right next to elevated tracks?” A chorus of ‘no’s filled the air. “I have. When your window is open and the train goes by, the noise is almost unbearable. You can't hear yourself think.”

“Your point?” Asked Juror #3, voice straining to be unemotional.

“The old man beneath the victim said he heard the android shout ‘I’m going to kill you!’ when pressed by the defense he said about one second after the shout the body fell.” Juror #5 continued, voice slowly growing in excitement.

“Right.” Juror #2’s leg bounced under the table as if he had too many built-up jitters to stay still.

“The woman across the street saw the scene through the last two windows of the el train.”

“I still don’t see where you’re going with this.” Juror #7 said huffily.

“The woman across the street looked through the windows of the last two cars of the el and saw the body fall. Right? The last two cars.” Juror #4’s eyes slowly grew as if he had just realized Juror #5’s point.

“That’s what he just said.” Juror #7 grunted.

“An el takes ten seconds to pass a given point or two seconds per car. That el had been going by the old man's window for at least six seconds and maybe more, before the body fell, according to the woman.” Juror #4 leaned towards the other end of the table to the best of his ability. The edge cutting into his chest.

“The old man would have had to hear the android say, 'I'm going to kill you,' while the front of the el was roaring past his window. It's not possible that he could have heard it.” Continued Juror #5 leaning against his edge of the table.

“Of course he could’ve heard it.” Juror #6 sputtered. “I mean the android was shouting wasn’t he?”

“That doesn’t change how close the train was.” Supplied Juror #2.

“I don’t think he could’ve heard it.” Juror #5 said with an air of finality.

“Are you calling the witness a liar?” Juror #3 asked.

“He makes a valid point.” Juror #2 finally opted to use the tissue he’d taken to clean his hands.

“You two are crazy. The witness whose story corroborated with the android fleeing the scene, lied.” Sneered Juror #7.

“The android didn’t flee the scene, he was located behind the complex, remember?” Juror #4 cocked his head at the end of the sentence.

“Well, it still--”

“I also feel you’re forgetting he’s the only one of us who’s lived beside an el track.” Juror #4 continued. “He’d be the only one who knows how loud it is.”

“Okay, okay fine. Let’s pretend your theory isn’t completely insane.” Juror #7 sighed, rubbing at his temples. “What reason would the old man have to lie?”

“Maybe he just wanted a little attention.” Juror #4 thought aloud.

“Attention?” Juror #7 growled, like a dog facing down a sewer rat. “Attention!?” He stood bolt upright. “You’ve come up with more tall tales in these past few moments than I’ve thought of my entire life. Maybe you should sell one to the paper! They’ll publish it for you!”

“I’m going to have to ask you to sit down.” Juror #5’s voice was on the edge of a shout, his hands were curled around his chair so tightly his knuckles were becoming white. “You should have more respect.”

Juror #7 remained standing, his legs trembled slightly under him. He curled his lip back in a snarl, Juror #5 not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“I’m just saying what everyone is thinking.”

“I wouldn’t say.” Juror #2 slowly got to his feet, fighting the urge to fidget with his shirt cuffs. “I can kind of see what he means.”

“You’re kidding.” Juror #7 deadpanned.

Juror #2 glared daggers at him before clearing his throat. “People do things for attention all the time, even when they don’t realize.”

“Please.” Juror #3 smirked. “I always know when I want attention.”

Juror #2 sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just- What I mean is when-” He trailed off, glaring at the table. “Shit I’m not good at words.”

“It’s okay.” Assured Juror #5.

Juror #2 suddenly snapped to alertness, turning to the man beside him. “Gimme those notes?”

As Juror #5 handed the stack of papers over, Juror #6 shifted in his seat.

“I feel like… I feel like I also understand what they mean.” He said.

Juror #7 rolled his eyes, sharply inhaling to speak, only to be silenced by a stern look from the rest of the jury.

“It’s… You see…” Juror #6 grumbled in frustration at his inability to explain. “It’ll be easier if I tell a story.” He shifted to a more comfortable position. “I’ve done labor work my entire life… Not that it’s surprising to most people.” He chuckled. It wasn’t a false statement, with his large frame it would’ve been shocking if he _didn’t_ do labor. “It’s far from easy work, the hours are long and I doubt my knees are gonna hold up into my sixties. But it’s also rewarding, and it keeps my family well-fed. Even so, people rarely put half a thought into the work that went into building the houses they live in and the places they shop or eat. So trust me, I know what it’s like to just be ignored.”

Juror #3 pulled a newspaper on the table towards himself writing a tic-tac-toe board on it. He drew an _‘X’_ in the center space, then offered it to Juror #7. The man gave him a cross look.

“I’ll never be famous. There will never be a statue of me. There will never be a book written about me. The only recognition I get is from my family and friends, even then it’s just for doing what is expected of me. But a few years ago when my family’s situation back in Canada grew worse, I just didn’t know what to do… My wife was taking all the hours she could but our daughter was still too young to be home alone all day. So I decided I’d work every hour of every week at the plaza I was helping build.”

“I’m not sure if I see where this is going.” Said Juror #1, gently.

“Sorry, I ramble a lot.” Juror #6 apologized. “The point I was trying to get to was that on some level, I knew it was too much for me. Still, I didn’t want to admit it to myself. So I worked as late and as early as my boss would allow. Obviously, it made me lose sleep. I hardly ate. And I just felt miserable.”

With a sigh, Juror #2 returned the trial notes to Juror #5 before walking around to Juror #3’s side of the table.

“Of course my coworkers notice. I mean it was hard not to. I’ve always been very precise with my work. It’s hard to ignore it when someone like that is suddenly so tired they’re falling asleep in the middle of conversations, running into walls and tripping over their own feet.”

Juror #2 snatched the newspaper Juror #3 had jotted the tic-tac-toe board on, skimming it.

“After everything was said and done, I realized. I had sorta wanted to be noticed, maybe someone would offer help. Maybe someone would appreciate everything I do. Anything. I just went to a bit of an extreme.”

He coughed, flushing and smiling sheepishly, pulling his chin to his chest.

“So…” Juror #3 said slowly. “You’re trying to get us to believe the man is lying about hearing the android shout. For attention?”

“Well, I’m still not all that sure.” Admitted Juror #6. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

“Highly possible.” Interjected Juror #2, wielding the newspaper in his hand as if it were a prize. “This paper has the story about the old man’s account. It doesn’t seem like he’s done anything else notable his whole life, I mean- You have to get antsy right? Being seventy-six and no one knowing about you. All he talked about was what he could do, never about what he did…” Juror #2 trailed off.

“And you're trying to tell us he lied about a thing like this just so that he could be important?” Juror #3 was beginning to look slightly undone.

“He wouldn't really lie. But maybe he'd make himself believe that he heard those words and recognized the defendant’s face.” Juror #4 hypothesized.

“That’s impossible!” Juror #7 snapped.

“It really isn’t that difficult to believe.” Said Juror #6 curtly.

“Especially the phrase ‘I’m going to kill you’ it hollered it at the top of its lungs for the whole world to hear! That isn’t something you just do without follow through.” Juror #7 shook his head gently as if to clear it. “My point is that you don’t say something like that, that loudly and not mean it.”

“I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to scream ‘I’m going to kill you’ at the top of his lungs before killing someone.” Juror #1 pointed out.

“Well obviously it wouldn’t be very bright but since when have we expected androids to be bright?” Juror #7 tittered, as if the very thought was the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard.

“But how did the old man get to the door so quickly?” Juror #6 questioned suddenly, he had taken the newspaper Juror #2 had snagged and appeared to be reading it. “We saw him in the trial and this thing says he walks with a limp and had two strokes in the past decade.”

“He got to the door and that’s that.” Juror #3 said smoothly.

“No, no he makes a good point.” Interjected Juror #2. “It took him to damn near sixty seconds to get on the stand.”

“Climbing something is more strenuous than walking though.” Juror #1 pointed out.

“And what about modern medicine, it can keep people alive for years.” Juror #4 offered.

“Yes but medication won’t stop bone decay and this man’s bones looked archaic.” Juror #2 explained crossing his arms. “So how did he get to the door fast enough to see the android flee the scene.”

“He said it took him about fifteen seconds to reach the door from his bedroom.” Juror #5 informed. He turned what appeared to be a hand-drawn diagram of the apartment, complete with measurements to face the other jurors.

Juror #4 pointed to the room marked bedroom. “He claimed he heard the body fall then immediately got to his feet and rushed to his door.”

“His bed was beside the window. He had to grab his canes, move six feet to the door of the bedroom, open it. Then move forty-three feet down the hall and open the door. All in time for him to see the android run down the stairs.” Juror #4 expanded.

“Is that plausible?” Juror #1 asked.

“You bet your ass.” Juror #7 answered.

“For an old man who uses canes, that's a long walk.” Juror #5 drew his pen along the unsteady lines of the apartment’s walls.

“We could always test it.” Juror #1 suggested. “How long would you say this room is?”

Juror #5 scrutinized the room around him. “About twenty feet.”

“From there we could calculate how long it’d take for him to get to the front door.”

“Fine, you test it.” Juror #7 said matter of factly, gesturing to Juror #2.

“Why me?”

“You look like the oldest out of all of us here.”

Knowing he couldn’t prove him wrong, Juror #2 set his jaw. Approaching the wall furthest from the door he waited for a signal. A few other Jurors got to their feet, corralling around Juror #1, #4, and #5. When Juror #5 gave him the go-ahead, slowly, oh so slowly, Juror #2 started towards the door to the office. After what felt like eons of awkward silence, hobbling, stifled breathing, and shifting, Juror #2 grabbed the doorknob.

“Time!”

“How long was that.” Called Juror #3 from where he was still seated.

Juror #5 tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment, calculations running behind his eyes. “Approximately ten seconds, adding that onto the forty-three-foot hallway, I can't say for certain the old man could’ve made it.”

“C’mon he had to have walked faster than that.” Argued Juror #7.

Juror #4 slammed his hand against the oaken table. “I’d like to call another vote.”

“What good will that do, you can’t really--”

“A vote has been called.” Announced Juror #5. “I don’t think anonymous votes are worth the time anymore, all for not guilty, raise your right hand.”

Juror #4 and #5 did as they were told, #5 frowned looking around himself. Gradually Juror #1 raised his hand.

“The vote is three to four.”

“I can’t believe this!” Juror #7 shoved himself away from his chair. “You.” He pointed solely at Juror #4. “You walked in here with your heart bleeding all over the floor for this poor android and now you have some soft-hearted old ladies out here listening to you. Well, I’m not that stupid.” He looked around at the rest of the jury, most of which were avoiding eye contact. “What’s the matter with you people!? That android is guilty! We have to get rid of it! We’re letting it slip through our fingers here!”

“Slip through our fingers?” For once Juror #4’s voice sounded angered, he stepped back, almost pushing against the bookshelf behind him. “Are you his executioner?”  
  


“I’m one of them!”

“Perhaps you’d like to kill him yourself.”

“The android? You bet I would!” Juror #7 puffed his chest proudly.

“Then I’m sorry for you.”

“You are not starting that with me.” Snarled Juror #7.

“What it must feel like… to _want_ to kill him.”

Juror #7 clenched and unclenched his fists. “Shut up.”

“It’s terrible of you.”

“I said, shut up!”

“You’re a sadist.”

“Shut up!”

“You want to destroy him because of your own personal biases, not because of the facts.”

“SHUT UP!”

Juror #7 threw himself at the man. Juror #2’s reflexes were faster than #5’s. By the time the younger man was able to catch up and hold the enraged man back, he had regained a bit of control. Seeing Juror #5 he rammed his elbow into his gut, causing him to wheeze. Juror #2 redoubled his efforts to hold him back, all while Juror #4 watched with an unmoving expression.

“Let me go! Let me go now! This is assault of an officer! I’ll kill him! I'll kill him!”

Juror #4's expression shifted into one of almost cartoonish mock horror. "You don't really mean you'll kill me! Do you?"


	3. Act III

Juror #7’s eyes narrowed into slits. He took a deep inhale then an exhale. Rolling his shoulder to dislodge Juror #2’s hold. Sensing the moment was over Juror #2 released him. Juror #5 taking the opportunity to cradle his abdomen.

Silently seething Juror #7 turned around, leaning against the table. Juror #6 silently watched him, he’d half risen from his seat. Seeing his fellow juror wasn’t going to have another outburst he lowered himself. Still, he held the man’s gaze, a warning conveyed clear across his face.

Thunder rolled.

“Sounds like rain.” Remarked Juror #1 after the stretch of silence. “Don’t remember that in the forecast.”

Juror #5 waved off a concerned Juror #2 whose eyes flickered over to one of the windows.

“Said there was a 45% chance last I checked.” He murmured, leaning away.

The clock chimed, signaling an hour to six.

“It’s getting late.” Juror #6 mentioned.

“Why don’t we all head home? Sleep on it.” Suggested Juror #1.

“Not a chance.” Juror #3 challenged.

“I have to be somewhere in an hour.” Juror #5 straightened, smoothing his shirt. “So, if nobody has any other suggestions. There are a few points… we still haven’t gone over.”

“We’re getting nowhere.” Juror #3 crossed his arms, leaning back casually. “I’m not changing my vote. There’s no way we’re all going to agree.” He tilted his head towards the ceiling. “Why not just declare us a hung jury. Let that android try his luck somewhere else.”

Juror #6 hummed. “I’m still not all that sure either way if I’m honest. You all have brought up some pretty good points but there’s still so much we don’t have answers for.”

“Still.” Juror #2 turned to Juror #7 who still hadn’t sat up. “I don’t see why we have to act like children.”

Juror #7 smacked the table. “Shit.” He turned and fell into his chair.

“Why don’t we go over everything we’re still suspicious about.” Suggested Juror #6.

“Sure, don’t got anything else to do. I’m not all that suspicious though, all this shit is making my head spin.” Juror #2 collapsed into his own chair.

Juror #5 pulled out his seat, falling into it.

“So that’s three for not guilty, three for guilty, and one undecided.” He mumbled, shuffling the envelopes which held vote one and two. For some reason, he hadn’t made an envelope for the third vote.

“So let’s say you do convince us all to vote not guilty.” Juror #3 asked Juror #4 icily. “And he did kill his owner. What then?”

“What if we all vote guilty and he didn’t kill his owner. What then?” Juror #4 responded, firm but shaky.

“How can you still doubt it? There was no one else at the scene.” Juror #3’s brows furrowed as if Juror #4 was a remarkably interesting jigsaw puzzle.

“I do have one question.” Juror #1 sank into his seat. “The stab wound was made at a downward angle.”

“Yes, they went over that in court.” Juror #3 murmured impatiently.

“The android was reported to be 5’10” correct? And the victim was 6’0” so why was the wound made at a downward angle.” Questioned Juror #1.

“No, that can’t be right.” Juror #6 interjected. “The eyewitness across the street reported the killer to be taller than the victim.”

“The entire complex is basically a retirement home, she probably missaw.” Croaked Juror #7 not looking up from the table.

“She was wearing glasses on the stand.” Noted Juror #5 finally setting the envelopes back down.

“How do we know she wasn’t wearing them at the time?” Juror #3 quirked his head.

“The witness claimed she was on her way to bed when she saw the scene.” Juror #4 tugged at his jacket cuffs. “The window she reportedly looked out of was beside her bed. I don’t know anyone who wears their glasses to sleep.”

“But we still don’t know whether she was far-sighted or near-sighted.” Juror #2 toyed with the handle of the switchblade. Before he shoved it back into the center of the table.

“Can’t android heights be customized?” Juror #6 asked.

“This model can I believe.” Juror #1 grabbed another tissue to blow his nose.

“But his measurements were taken at the station, he was 5’10” there.” Juror #2 grabbed a tissue of his own to wipe at his brow.

“Maybe he changed his height back after he fled the scene.” Suggested Juror #3.

“Why would he do that if he planned on disappearing.” Juror #4 argued.

“He didn’t plan on disappearing by the looks of it.” Juror #6 set the newspaper back down, content with how much he’d read. “Didn’t he remain at the scene until the police arrived?”

“Yes he did, they caught him rather easily.” Recalled Juror #2.

“The android was reported to have screamed at 11:05pm then the police arrived at 11:09pm.” Juror #5 had transitioned from playing with the envelopes to chewing on the pen in his hand.

“That’s more than enough time for him to revert to his default height.” Juror #6 said.

“They found him passed out beside the dumpster though.” Added Juror #4.

“He forced himself to shut down.” Juror #5 clicked the pen twice idly, looking around the room in thought. “Although we don’t know how long he was awake until he was found.”

“But why would he stay at the scene?” Juror #3 asked, twisting a strand of his hair with his finger.

There was a pause.

“Does anyone know who called the police?” Juror #5 finally set his pen down, leaning back in his chair in wait for a response.

“An anonymous tip. The caller never said their name.” Juror #2 shrugged one shoulder.

“What if the android called the police?” Juror #5 theorized.

“Why would the android call the police?” Juror #6 rubbed at his eyes.

“If there was a break-in maybe. That would explain why he stayed.” Juror #4 poised. “Maybe he just wanted to help.”

“To help?” Juror #7 rumbled out sarcastically. “To help? You know what? The real crime is being committed right here in this room.” He stood up, he looked tired, much older than he must’ve been. Weathered and battered. “In case you haven’t noticed, the only thing we’re deciding here is the fate of some… Some android! Why are you treating this like such a big deal?”

Juror #6 pushed back his chair. He then stood up and walked to one corner of the room.

“Where are you going? Listen to me. You have no idea what it’s like out there! I’ve seen it, androids deviate and you know the only way they can do it? By killing someone! That isn’t even mentioning the human protestors.” Juror #7 turned to Juror #4 slyly, the man kept his gaze even as ever. “Arrested, detained, some have even had to be shot! All for what? A piece of plastic?”

Juror #5 stood up so fast his chair teetered dangerously before somehow falling back onto its legs. He walked to another corner of the room.

“Why else would someone be fighting this hard for a clearly guilty android to be freed? Rose-tinted glasses people! How else could somebody believe it's innocent? Because it’s nice? Level-headed? Bullshit! He just doesn’t want his cause to be proven false.”

Juror #2 and Juror #1 simultaneously stood. They shared a quick glance before taking up the remaining two corners.

“You better listen to me!” Juror #7 threatened. “We have it! Do you really want another one of them crowding the streets? Free to do anything at all? Taking our jobs? Sure, androids have done some good things. I’m the first person to admit that they have to do some good sometimes. But the instant they don’t like someone? Boom. Dead. You think it’s alright to just let it go?”

Juror #4 who’d been silently taking the blows seemed to blink for the first time. His eye twitched once then twice before he pushed his chair back. He then silently shouldered past Juror #7 who turned to watch him, bewildered.

“What’s going on here? I’m saying my piece!” He desperately leaned towards Juror #3 the only person still seated in the room. The man across from him, took his own still full cup of water beginning to sip it casually. “You know how it is right? Us, people… We don’t mean anything to androids. They just use us for our jobs, money, time, all that. They don’t really care. There isn’t one of them that’s any good, and take it from me, this android on trial--”

Juror #3 removed the small cup from his lips and set it down on the table. “I’ve had enough.” He said, voice dangerously quiet. “Say another word and I’ll personally ensure you never open your mouth again.”

Juror #7’s lips moved soundlessly, like a fish out of water. He looked up and around the room but there were no eyes to meet. He moved to try and speak again but it was as if his vocal cords had been severed.

Then slowly, very, very slowly, he walked to a small table beside one of the windows. He walked as if a zombie. Staggering slightly he pulled out the chair and the screech of wood was all there was for a moment. He cast a cursory glance around the room once more. And then he slumped into the seat.

As he lay his head in his arms, looking almost ready to take a nap, there was another rumble. Then it started to rain.

Five men in five corners of the room returned to their chairs as if nothing had happened. As if they had all merely decided to do their best Blaire Witch impression for a few moments. The storm muffled their footsteps but couldn’t muffle the tick of the clock.

Where was I now?” Juror #5 began, back to business. “The android hasn’t spoken at all during questioning, so law enforcement has no way to know if he was the one who called in.”

“But if speaking would prove his innocence why remain silent?” Juror #6 questioned.

There was another stretch of quiet.

“What if he can’t.” Juror #2 postulated.

“What do you mean?” Asked Juror #1.

“I mean, I haven’t seen a whole lot of androids in my lifetime. I like it that way mind you, but the androids I have seen usually don’t speak unless spoken to.”

“But he’s been spoken to, many times.” Juror #3 finally tucked the strand of his hair behind his ear, tilting his head against his hand.

“Yes, I know that.” Juror #2 said sternly. “What I mean is, what if he was ordered not to speak? Let’s assume he did shout ‘I’m going to kill you' wouldn’t you tell him to be quiet? Even then let’s not turn the victim into a martyr here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never let the android speak. Ever.”

There was a small murmur of affirmation among the group.

“But he deviated, right? Why couldn’t he disobey orders if he deviated?” Juror #5’s chair audibly creaked as he leaned forward in it.

“What if he didn’t deviate?” Juror #4 offered.

“--Never heard of such a--”

“--Has to be the most asinine--”

“--Can that even--”

“---What the hell kind of half baked--”

“Gentlemen!”

“Gentlemen…” Juror #4 repeated, a bit quieter this time. “I know it sounds crazy but android protection laws bar Cyberlife from disassembling androids. We have no idea if he’s even deviated.”

“I'm still not so sure.” Juror #6 mumbled, not meeting anyone in the room's eyes. "That's all circumstantial at best, things like the knife and the--"

“If I could cut in.” Juror #1 interjected casting Juror #6 an apologetic look. “On the topic of the knife, the stab wound is… Strange to me. It was at a downward angle which I don’t understand.”

“Why is that?” Juror #5 questioned.

“Well…” Juror #1 retrieved the switchblade from the table trading it between his hands. “See I’ve seen one of these put into use once or twice and I’ve never seen it held in a fist.” Juror #1 flicked open the switchblade, swapping which hand he held it in as too easily clench it in a fist. “The movement would take too long. Of course height has a point in it but let's assume the android is 5'10". It just wouldn't make sense.” He sheathed the switch then unsheathed it again this time moving it in a quick slash motion. “That would be the fastest way to do it.”

“Have you stabbed someone before?” Juror #5 asked suddenly demure.

“No.” Juror #1 resheathed the switch, setting it down, although his hands were still clutched together.

“Did you?” Juror #3 leaned forward as if he didn’t want to miss a single one of Juror #1’s breaths.

“No!”

“Then how do you know all this?”

“It’s really just common sense.” Cut in Juror #4.

“Have you ever seen someone get stabbed?” Juror #2 smiled awkwardly appearing to try and lighten the mood.

Juror #4’s breathing hitched. A tentative silence filled the room, Juror #1 moving uncomfortably in his seat. Someone cleared their throat.

“So…” Juror #5 said slowly. “You think the knife wound is odd?”

“More than odd, considering the android’s size.”

“But this wasn’t a fighting android, not even a cage fighting model. It was just a domestic worker android. Why would it know how to handle a knife?” Juror #3 posited.

“If it was panicked it would more so be out of pure instinct.” Explained Juror #1. “Even if he had absolutely no knowledge on how to handle a knife he’d again have to be taller than his opponent. That is for the wound to make sense at least.”

Juror #4 turned his head minutely to face Juror #6. “Is there seriously not a single doubt in your mind that he’s guilty?” His voice was quiet, pleading.

“I… I’m not entirely sure…”

“So? Who cares if the stab wound was odd? There was no one else in the complex who could’ve done it.” Juror #3 sat up, suddenly alert.

Juror #5 looked at the clock, before casting Juror #4 an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry gentlemen but if this runs much longer we’ll have to declare a hung jury. That or come back tomorrow.”

“Got a hot date?” Juror #2 asked sarcastically.

Juror #5 sighed forlornly. “Worse, class.”

“College I would hope.”

“Why on earth would you think they’d throw a highschool student to the dogs!” Juror #5 gapped.

“We can discuss the legal system anytime, can we please get back on topic?” Begged Juror #6

“He’s guilty.” Juror #3 stated, eyeing him from across the table.

“No…” Juror #6 began quietly. “No, too much doesn’t make sense. Not guilty.”

“What about you at the table?” asked Juror #2, raising his voice to be heard. “Setting your personal feelings aside. Do you really think he’s guilty?”

Juror #7 was quiet for a moment, before shaking his head in a ‘no’ motion.

Juror #2 looked around the table. “So that is, one… three… five…” Juror #2 raised his own hand. “Six in favor of acquittal.”

“You’re alone.” Said Juror #5, not unkindly.

Juror #3 looked around the table. His expression was unreadable. “You’ve been the one leading the righteous charge here.” He smiled gently at Juror #6. “What changed?”

“There’s a reasonable doubt in my mind now.” Juror #6 retorted.

“What about you?” Juror #5 asked bluntly. “What doubts do you still have?”

Juror #3 looked almost confused for a moment before he shut his eyes. And he smiled. “None really.”

Juror #5 blinked. “What?”

“Haven’t really had any doubts since this… What did he say?” Juror #3 leaned towards Juror #7 who was still laying face down. “Since this ‘slick preacher’ first made his point.”

Juror #7 moved so his face was barely visible. “So what you’re saying is you’ve been wasting our time?” He seethed, voice muffled by his clothing.

“I wouldn’t say wasting your time!” Juror #3 looked slightly offended. “I prefer to call it… A brain teaser.”

“Puzzles don’t waste hours.” Juror #2 spat.

“You’ve clearly never assembled a good one then.” Juror #3 put up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry though, I’ll vote not guilty.”

The tension in the room was so thick you could reach out and squeeze it.

“Uh- Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Juror #3 chuckled, standing to fiddle with the switches on a long broken fan.

Juror #5 sputter, sitting up as well. “B-But why? Why waste all our time like this?”

Juror #3 simply shrugged one shoulder resolving a hearty smack to the side of the fan would fix it. It didn’t. “Well.” He turned, tidy white teeth showing proudly. “I suppose I just don’t know.”

Juror #2 stared at the man, dumbstruck. “I… Wha…”

“What’s wrong?” Juror #3 folded his hands behind his back, leaning down the table towards Juror #4. Mismatched eyes, a box of shaken traits, and jumbled stories cobbled together over experience. Met heaven-sent blue, with unknowable beliefs and faiths, kept hidden rather than on his sleeve. An unstoppable force met an immovable object. “You got your ‘not guilty’ verdict did you not?”

“I don’t want it if you aren’t convinced of the android’s innocence.”

“Don’t be so hasty, I believe you.” Juror #3 promised, reseating himself. “Now let’s get this over with shall we?”

Every member of the jury aside from Juror #3 and Juror #7 stood. The foreman silently walked from the table, knocking on the door to inform the guard deliberations were complete.

~~~~~

Juror #4 looked out at the rain, perched atop the courthouse steps. As he was pondering if it’d be rude to ask his friend who’d departed a few moments before him for a ride. A voice broke into his thoughts.

“Excuse me, sir!” Juror #5 skid to a halt beside Juror #4, wielding an umbrella and jacket. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before dipping his head respectfully. “That was some pretty good work in there. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

“I’m Markus.”

“Name is Conner.” They looked at each other for a long moment. “Well…” Said Conner. “See you around.”

“So long.”

And they stepped into the rain.


End file.
